nameless protector goddess

Her face was the last flames of sundown, her voice the grating screech of a loose and rusty hinge. She’d hide in the cracks of yesterday’s memories, where the darker fears live, but she herself knew not fear or thirst, hunger or want. She was the keeper of secret passions, the protector of lost and feeble souls. She had no name. As with a shadow, she was there yet not really there, present yet absent, unforgettable yet impossible to overlook. Hers are the hopes never spoken, the forgotten feelings rotting away behind fast-food-fat walls. And though most people meet her frequently, she sloughs from their minds with the breaking of the next day’s sun. Heed her call, and rejoice.

© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥